


All I Want for Christmas

by MnemonicMadness



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Harold Finch, POV John Reese, Yes this is a Christmas fic in April stop looking at me like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 17:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18627790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MnemonicMadness/pseuds/MnemonicMadness
Summary: It's two days before Christmas, and John has a song stuck in his head.





	All I Want for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talkingtothesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/gifts).



> ...because this is your fault. You put this idea in my head and I couldn't stop thinking about it.
> 
> Also because I've had this song stuck in my head since yesterday and I want others to suffer with me.

Two day before Christmas, it’s snowing. The library doesn’t offer the best view, but John is happy to contend himself with watching the flakes settle on the half-translucent tarps covering the windows, and it was nice walking here with the fresh snow outside. There are still some wet patches the melting snow of his shoes left on the floor that Harold eyed with displeasure when he came in, but he was happy enough when John handed him the usual cup of Sencha Green and box of donuts, so John’s mood stays as high as it is.

The cardboard cup, still steaming on the desk while Harold’s busy with the rest of his donut, is covered in white snowflake patterns on red background, and Christmas songs were playing where he picked up the donuts, and in every shop and café he passed on the way, the last one having gotten stuck in his head…

_I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know. Make my wish come true. All I want for Christmas is you…_

John wanders around the room with a content smile, trailing his fingers along bookshelves, pretending to pick something to read while he’s really watching Harold from the corner of his eye. He hasn’t decorated in the loft, hasn’t even actually celebrated Christmas in years, but with the first snow having fallen today and quietly humming along to the melody in his head, it’s nice to imagine.

He’d have a decently sized Christmas tree, larger than he might’ve picked, but there still is so much empty space in the loft, and anything too small would’ve looked a bit sad. It’d be fresh and green and filling the space with the smell of Christmas, and he would have taken care of the decorations on the higher and lower branches, those not comfortable for Harold to reach. But it’d be under Harold’s instructions, as to withstand his fussy boss’ scrutiny.

Then later, after Christmas dinner, they’d put on music and exchange presents. A few weeks ago he managed to track down a rare first edition he knows Harold has been trying to find for a while now, and he’ll probably wind up giving it to him here in the library. But in his imagination, Harold is sitting on the sofa next to him, close enough to feel his warmth, and John could watch the sweet, delighted smile spread on his face up close. And maybe, – far from realistic, he knows that, but what else are daydreams for – maybe Harold would lean in, thank him with a kiss to his cheek and that’s a gift John would be glowing with happiness over for the rest of the day.

Maybe he’d have hung up a mistletoe, and maybe, Harold would let John catch him under it once or twice.

He tells himself to stop here, that everything beyond that is something he shouldn’t be thinking about, not in general and especially not with Harold in the room. Besides, there won’t be a Christmas tree or mistletoe and he definitely won’t get to kiss Harold, but if he’s lucky, he might still get to spend Christmas with Harold anyway. And that thought is enough to keep the smile firmly on his face, keeps him humming to himself.

 

* * *

 

As lovely a sight as the snow offered this morning, the cold has seeped deeply into Harold’s body, sending a low but constant ache through his neck and lower back, and a soft sigh of relief escapes him when he has finished his donut and wraps his cold hands around the cup of tea, taking a slow drink and letting the warmth fill him. He is absently aware of John studying the contents of the bookshelves, but distracted as he is, it takes a moment for the low, soft humming to register, and despite himself, he turns around.

The smallest droplets of water, left behind from the melted snowflakes, still litter John’s hair, catching the warm light of the library, and a beatific, faraway smile grace’s John’s expression. It seems like such an achingly genuine one, so open and vulnerable, filled with such a simple happiness that Harold almost feels as though he ought to look away, even as the warmth of the tea fades in comparison to the one the sight of John’s smile fills him with.

For a moment, he is very tempted to simply lean back and enjoy John’s humming, to look his fill when it is still so heartbreakingly rare to see John this content, but his mind automatically fills in the lyrics for this song, and he feels his own, unconscious smile dimming in response.

A very familiar ache makes itself known in his chest. There is indeed little else he could want for Christmas other than John’s company. Here in the library, or better yet perhaps back at one of Harold’s preferred safehouses. A quiet evening with comfortable silences and idle conversation, simply being able to relish in one another’s company.

Unbidden, the picture gains detail in his mind, the two of them standing in front of the window at John’s side, closer than he’d allow himself in reality. Soft music would be playing in the background, something unobtrusive but fitting, a selection of jazz covers of Christmas classics, and he could turn into John’s waiting arms and they’d gently sway together to the music while watching the sky darken and the snow fall, glittering down below under the streetlights. John’s smile would be similar to the one he is wearing now, only it’d be meant for Harold instead of whatever he might be thinking of at this moment. He’d be happy, they both would be, and perhaps, Harold would even find the courage to reach up and pull John down into a soft, loving kiss.

Suppressing the urge to scoff at himself, he dispels the thought before he can stare for too long, hoping that no trace of it is left on his face when he notices John glancing towards him. He really shouldn’t fantasise about the man who is his friend, and more importantly, his employee in such a manner, no matter how innocent the picture may have been this time, no matter what cheesy song prompts them. As much as he might wish otherwise, he knows there is little chance John would even be interested in a romantic relationship with Harold. All Harold knows he can wish for, and he truly does, no matter how selfish a wish it is, is that they might nonetheless end up spending Christmas together.

Next to the bookshelves, John is still humming, still smiling, and it would be rather conspicuous for Harold to turn away now that John has caught him looking, so he forces the long familiar heartache down and focuses on his own joy in seeing him so content. And when Harold returns the smile, his too is a genuine one.

“You seem to be in the Christmas spirit today, Mr Reese.”

He would regret speaking up if it weren’t for John’s smile widening into a small, teasing grin.

“What can I say, first snow today, and I’ve spent the last two in Baghdad and Caracas. It’d be nice to have a white Christmas again.” John clears his throat then, eyes glancing downward to the floor for a moment before finding Harold’s again, something uncertain, downright nervous in them that has Harold wish to reassure him.

It is that wish he blames for what he unthinkingly says next. “Do you happen to have any plans for Christmas? I thought, perhaps, that is, if you would like to...” The warmth he feels rising to his cheeks now has nothing to do with the cup of tea still in his hand, and he has never been so grateful to find himself interrupted.

“Actually, I was going to ask if you’d maybe want to come by my place. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to make a Christmas turkey, but I used to be pretty good at it.”

Really, his heart shouldn’t flutter like this at such a simple suggestion, but even though this may not be all that he wants, it is all he could ask for, offered to him on a silver platter and despite all the reasons that he shouldn’t, the thought of not accepting the invitation hardly so much as crosses his mind. “I’d be delighted to, John. Assuming, of course, the Numbers permit...”

“Yeah, of course. If the Machine stays quiet...”

Harold turns back to his work before the lull in conversation can turn uncomfortable, though he does catch a last glimpse of John’s smile, not simply content now, but _happy_.

 

* * *

 

(The Machine is indeed quiet on Christmas. There is no elegantly decorated Christmas tree, no mistletoe, and the only music is that from yet another Christmas classic playing on the TV in the background, volume so low as to be nearly inaudible. But any such things would be lost on them anyway as they find themselves entangled on the sofa, exchanging countless, gentle kisses as the snow dances through the air outside the window.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my random nonsense! I hope you enjoyed this (and my attempt at John's POV)? If so, please do consider leaving me a comment, kudos and comments are all I want (and not just for Christmas) :D


End file.
